Thief is such a harsh word, Harry
by 17th Century Rogue
Summary: Draco is a renowned pickpocket, leader of the brotherhood of the Slytherins, the most notorious thieves in London. Harry is an upperclass student concentrating on his studies. Their paths cross...
1. Chapter One

_Thief is Such a Harsh Word, Harry _

**Warnings: **This story is AU, non-magic and slash Draco/Harry later on..

**Setting and characters: **The story is set in the 18th Century, 1700's London, hence the pickpockets. I felt like a change from the obvious character roles. Draco: rich, high-society etc. Harry: simpleton, no preconceived notions of people because of who they are etc. Thus, I have made Draco the lower-class thief and Harry the upper/middle-class character living a normal life no struggles because I think that's what their personalities fit better. Draco has the perfect sly, mischievous style to fit the role of leader of a band of criminals. And then Harry fits well into the upper-class life, gets by fine, kind, friendly etc. Anyone else with me on this? Meh. Just read and you'll see what I mean.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything JK and the story may hold some hints of Tamora Pierce and Oliver Twist neither of which are my own creation.

-CHAPTER ONE-

Draco signalled to Blaise with a small nod as their target came into his sight. He pushed off the wall he was leaning against and began to follow him down the street. It was a bleak day and the rain would be hitting soon, he could sense it in the air. Draco's eyes flicked to the left across the road to the other cobblestone path where he could just make out the form of Goyle leaning against a lamppost in the centre of the busy street, cap pulled down shadowing his face.

Up ahead he could see Pansy not letting their target from her sight, though it wouldn't be too hard to lose him. Draco had pointed him out to them a street back. He was a young man with flaming red hair. He was walking with another young man with dark hair who he had been having a very animated conversation with the whole while the Slytherins had been tailing him. The conversation was clearly about money as the redhead would keep pulling his wallet from his pocket, opening it and showing the brunet its contents while smiling in disbelief.

Draco rolled his eyes at the man's stupidity as he fell in behind the pair. Anyone with a dash of sense would know how unwise it was to flash money in public- especially with all those bloody thieves around- Draco smiled to himself. It had been just yesterday when he was making his way back to the brotherhood's hiding counting the day's 'earnings' when he had been stopped by a man.

"A respectful looking lad like yourself should know better than to show that kind of money around here," the man had a kind face, but looked as though he hadn't eaten in a while, his jacket was worn and tattered at the edges. "One shouldn't think those bloody thieves are only going to go for easy targets and that you'll be safe. I heard a strapping lad like yourself was robbed bare just last week, so watch yourself, son."

Draco had nodded a thanks to the man and slipped the money back into his coat pocket.

It was a rule of the brotherhood to dress well, fit in with the public. This had been the seventh time Draco had been stopped and warned to stay on the look out for himself and his comrades.

No one else had ever been warned so when it happened Blaise made it his duty to point out how ridiculous it was that Draco took so much pride in his appearance and was constantly mistaken for someone of upper-class. "You're a thief Draco-"

"Thief is such a harsh word," it was Draco's favourite saying, "I see myself as a modern day Robin Hood. You're my merry men, and I'm your heroic leader."

"Only by birth," Blaise pointed out grinning.

"Blaise, we all know, if it hadn't been by birth I would still be leader anyway. And as leader it is my duty to look better than my followers, the way a king dresses better than his subjects. I think that's where Robin and I differ, honestly, the bloke should be told green should be worn more sparingly." Draco stated inspecting his nails

"I believe Robin Hood also stole from the rich to give to the poor, not stole from the rich for his own personal wealth," muttered Blaise.

Draco laughed, "True."

"But as I was saying, Draco you dress better than all the thieves in London put together, Christ, most of society for that matter."

Draco raised an eyebrow and rose from his chair, "And what's wrong with that?"

Blaise watched the silver eyes bore into him as the young man advanced on him. "Nothing," Blaise quickly looked to the ground away from the gaze, "nothing."

"Good," the blonde smiled. The Slytherins were all best friends but when the time came he still held power over them all. Draco turned to the rest of the room, grinning, "Tomorrow," he announced, "there'll be no solo work, we'll hit the streets as one."

And here they were. Behind the redhead Draco was close enough to hear his conversation with the brunet.

"But honestly Harry, look at it," he pulled the wallet out again.

The brunet, Harry, glanced at the money, smiled kindly and nodded, "Mmm."

"I've never had this much money in my life. Can you believe it? Fred and George are going to so envious when I show them. Said I could never hold a job, did I tell you Harry?"

"Yes, several times," said Harry laughing.

"And now I'll finally be able to ask Hermione out for dinner, buy her something special, no longer look like I can't even afford a decent shoe-shine. Oh god, Harry it's going to be great. She can't reject me now."

"She won't be able to resist you, mate."

The redhead beamed with pride and pulled his money out again to check it wasn't all a dream.

"Ron, put the money away," Harry muttered in a hushed voice.

"Thieves don't go for people like us, and if they did, they wouldn't attack in the middle of the day." Ron began to count his money again.

"Ron, just put it away," Harry wasn't going to risk the chance of Ron being robbed of the money he had worked so had for.

"You're being paranoid," said Ron huffily, "nothing's going to happen to it."

"I think," said a drawling voice from behind. "That you should listen to your friend."

Harry and Ron stopped abruptly and turned. Behind them stood a young man with white-blonde hair and cunning silver eyes.

"I'll do what I like with my money," said the redhead, "No thief's about to rob from me."

Draco looked Ron up and down, his lip curling in distaste at the shabbiness of the young man's clothes. "You seem so sure of that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Ron, eyes narrowing, taking a step towards the blonde.

Draco smiled, "Nothing."

Harry decided to intervene before his best friend lost it at a total stranger just for giving him some good advice. "Ron, just put your money back in your pocket. I'm sure nothing's going to happen to it but it's better to be safe than sorry."

With much glaring at the two other boys, Ron pocketed the wallet. Draco took note of which pocket before looking back at the brunet, flashing a sly grin and disappearing into the crowd.

"Creep," muttered Ron.

Harry watched as the man disappeared. There was something about him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He shook his head, tossing the thought aside.

"Who did he think he was telling me what to do with my mo-" Ron was cut short as he suddenly went stumbling forwards.

Harry looked down to see Ron blushing profusely, lying on the path with a girl on top of him.

Another young man was standing over them looking down at the two shaking his head. He had olive skin and dark hair, "Honestly Panse, be careful where you're going. You practically crushed the poor gentleman."

The girl blushed and looked apologetically at Ron. Harry raised an eyebrow at the young man's comment, there was no way the girl could have a crushed Ron she had a delicate figure and couldn't have weighed much at all.

The olive skinned man held out a hand and pulled the girl to her feet then pushed her away into the crowd. "I'm so sorry, sir," he held a hand out to Ron, "You'll have to excuse Pansy, never looks where she's going. I hope she hasn't caused you any inconvenience."

"No, none at all," said Ron still blushing from having the girl on top of him. He let the man pull him to his feet but then started to protest as he began to brush his coat down.

"Oh, you don't have to do that, it's just a bit of dirt-"

"No no, I insist."

Ron shot an awkward look at Harry who shrugged.

Blaise finished dusting off the redhead's coat, tipped his cap grinning and walked off into the crowd.

"Well that was strange," muttered Ron.

"It certainly was…" said Harry. "A bit coincidental don't you think?"

"What do you mean?" asked Ron. "Harry?"

Harry began pushing back through the crowd in the direction the girl and boy had gone. Ron ran after him.

"What are we doing?"

"Don't you think," said Harry, "that it's a bit odd that you've been flashing your money around and when you finally pocket it, you're knocked over. You tell them you're fine etcetera, but still he insists on dusting off your coat, the coat you just pocketed your money into. Don't you think that's all just a little too much to be a coincidence?"

Ron went white and frantically shoved his hand into his pocket, hoping against the odds Harry was wrong. He swallowed- he wasn't.

"C'mon," said Harry, he could still see the young man up ahead.

The pair broke into a sprint and as if sensing their presence the young man turned back, saw them and began to run too. He turned the nearest corner and dashed down the alleyway, Harry and Ron in hot pursuit.

Blaise could hear their feet echoing down the alleyway just behind as they hammered against the cobblestone path. He risked a look back before taking his next turn. They were only a yard or so back, hopefully Crabbe and Goyle were in position.

"There he goes," yelled Ron, though he needn't have as Harry had seen the young man turn the corner as well. They pushed past a couple getting into a coach and dodged a group of women.

"Bloody hell," yelled Ron, "GET OUT OF THE WAY! STOP, THIEF!"

The effect was instant. The busy street stopped frozen, looking around in alarm; then as suddenly as they had stopped everyone began to panic, running in all directions, screaming, falling to the ground, the street became chaotic.

Ron let out a frustrated yell.

Draco stood in a doorway watching the scene unfold. He couldn't help but laugh as the redhead yelled the infamous line "Stop thief!". When would they ever learn that line was more of a nuisance than it was worth? But who doesn't want chaos in a good street chase? He caught Crabbe and Goyle's eyes and nodded, the two set out.

Harry and Ron pushed roughly past people, getting pushed themselves by people running in all directions. Suddenly rough hands grasped Harry's arms from behind and he felt himself being dragged back through the crowd.

"What the hell?" he heard Ron yell. "Get off me!"

Draco smiled as he watched the pair struggle in Crabbe and Goyle's grasp and Blaise disappear around the corner. He'd be back with Pansy in the hide within the minute.

The brunet, Harry was his name wasn't it, was giving up a good fight. Goyle had taken several kicks to the crotch but was still holding on to him despite the pain. Draco had to admit Harry was doing well, very well. But he really shouldn't have spat in Goyle's eye. Goyle drew his fist back and glanced at Draco, who shook his head, Goyle rolled his eyes, dropped the raised fist and let go of his captive. Crabbe did the same.

Ron and Harry fell to the ground winded. Harry rubbed his head and felt around for his glasses. He found them and put them on, looking in the direction the thugs had gone but there was no sign of them.

"Bloody hell, Harry," said Ron sitting on the path shaking his head in disbelief. "My money, my bloody money...I'll never see it again."

"You seem so sure of that." It was the voice that had uttered the same words just before.

The blonde stood before them, smiling, Ron's wallet nestled in his palm. "My-my wallet. How did you...?" said an astonished Ron.

Harry looked at the blonde inquisitively.

"Trick of the trade. Now, I believe you were just saying you'd never see it again, yet here it is." Draco held up Ron's money, gesturing to it. "So it seems you were wrong, just like you were wrong to say...what was it again?" Draco put his hand to his temple and tilted his head to one side as though thinking. "Oh that's right!" he announced, "Thieves don't go for people like me and even if they did, they wouldn't attack in the middle of the day. Those kind of preconceived notions bring you nothing but bad luck."

"You bastard! Give back my money now!" yelled Ron jumping to his feet.

"I don't think that's going to happen," Draco sneered at the redhead.

"You're a thief?" asked Harry. Draco was surprised to find no hatred in his voice, just plain curiosity.

"Of course he's a bloody thief, Harry!" spat Ron. "Just look at him, he practically screams criminal."

Harry frowned, the blonde looked nothing like a criminal, his appearance was immaculate and he was very handsome.

"Thief is such a harsh word, Harry," said Draco looking the brunet over for the first time. He raised an eyebrow, he wasn't bad looking for an aristocrat.

"Not for people like you," said Ron.

"Is that so?" Draco turned back to the redhead, stalking towards him, eyes narrowing. Ron began to back away. "It may surprise you to know that I often feel guilty about taking people's hard earned money, but it's people like _you_," he stabbed a finger into Ron's chest, "Those who think they're untouchable by us, who loath us with no real cause to, who feel they're better than us. It's the satisfaction of taking the money of people like you, that makes me love what I do."

Draco glared at the redhead, before shoving him forcefully into the wall. Ron whimpered and slid down it. The blonde stared down at him in disgust before looking up and smiling at Harry. "Farewell, Harry."

Harry watched as he walked to the end of the alleyway and vanished into the crowded street beyond.

**A/N: **I've had this idea in mind for a while though there's a few things I'm not sure of- wallets in the 1700's? Can anyone help me there? I couldn't figure out what to call them, money pouches or something. meh, ahwell.

Well, I'm gonna see what kind of response I get before continuing. If it ain't good, I'll probably keep writing it for myself but won't bother posting and I'll get back to my other story in my other account. Thanks for reading the beginning of hopefully more if it's what you guys want. So until then.

-Rogue


	2. Chapter Two

_Thief is Such a Harsh Word, Harry_

Thankyou all, you've encouraged me to continue and also for all the info on wallets. I'm full bottle now, but I'm definitely going to have to research anything I want to include in this story. 17oo's is an interesting time the cross over between quite a lot of things, which is really annoying because some things I want to include are just outside the era and I know I could just include them anyway, but I dunno that just feels wrong, I want to stay true to the times. But it's also got me slightly wishing I'd set this in the 18oo's- so much more handy, _but no_ I've made the decision of 1700's and that is where I'll stay.

**Warning: **This chapter contains violence (only minor) just though I'd mention it just in case.

-CHAPTER TWO-

"Blonde hair, you say?" asked Fred.

"_White_-blonde," corrected Harry. He watched as Fred shot George an unreadable look.

George let out a low whistle but quickly put on a sympathetic expression as Ron glared at him from his armchair.

"What?" asked Harry, questioning the whistle. "Who is he?"

Fred looked over at George again who cleared his throat. "Well, have you ever heard of Lucius Malfoy?"

Ron put his head in his hands and let out a groan.

Harry frowned, "That was Lucius Malfoy? But, I thought he was dead."

"He is," said George.

"Actually," said Fred, "only supposedly. But don't worry Ron, you weren't robbed by _the _Lucius Malfoy, that'd be impossible."

"Hasn't been seen around London since, ohh what would it be now? The past…"

"Eleven years?" supplied Fred.

"Yeah that sounds about right. If he isn't dead then he's been out of the business for quite some time. So no, that wasn't Lucius Malfoy."

"Thank god. So this guy isn't one of the professionals, right? There might be some chance of getting my money back, then?" Ron said optimistically.

"Woah, hold your horses, mate," said Fred.

"Don't want to give yourself false hope. You see Ron, you weren't robbed by Lucius Malfoy, but someone just as good," George smiled at his twin.

"Who is he then?" asked Harry. Someone as good a thief as Lucius Malfoy? He'd never heard of an equal. Lucius Malfoy was the most legendary crook to ever walk the streets of London.

"Going on your description, it sounds as though you were robbed by…"

"His son," concluded George.

"Good old Draco," said Fred smiling, "Has it in for people who are conceited."

"Foolish."

"Don't forget those stupid money flashers," added Fred.

"And of course anyone who's disrespectful to his sort." George squatted down in front of Ron. "Please tell me you didn't say or do anything that stupid."

"Of course not!" Ron said outraged, "I'm not thick."

"Course you aren't dear," Fred turned to Harry, "What'd he do?"

"Apart from insulting thieves to his face?" Harry asked.

George dropped into the nearest seat trying to resist the urge to shake his brother by the shoulders while Fred put his hand to his forehead and shook his head.

"Well I'd say goodbye to that money now, you've no chance of seeing it again," said Fred.

"Insulted thieves to his face," muttered George in disbelief, "Blimey Ron, what were playing at?"

"I didn't _know_ he was a thief!" yelled Ron. "He just seemed like some up-himself prat."

What happened to 'he practically screams criminal'? Harry thought, but one look at Ron's face stopped him from saying it out loud. Ron didn't need things like that pointed out to him, he needed help. "Can't we report it?" he suggested.

"Yes!" said Ron, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Feel free," said George, "won't do much good though."

"You'd be better off trying to catch him yourself with the luck the police have with getting their hands on any of the Slytherins," Fred said bleakly.

"Fred!" George whispered in shock. He glared at his twin before looking over at Harry who had gone slightly white.

"Blimey Harry," said Fred hurriedly trying to make up for his slip of the tongue, "I didn't mean to… I forgot- well, no I didn't, I didn't forget, how could I possibly- it's not something you can forget easily- not that I'm saying you should forget, far from it- I just…ah, I'm sorry." Fred hung his head.

An awkward tension filled the air and no one dared meet Harry's eye. He let out a frustrated sigh, "I'm fine, honestly, Fred don't worry about it. Hearing the name isn't going to turn me into some emotionally unstable wreck."

He hated the way everyone tried to tread so carefully around the subject of his parents' murder, as though one mention of something even barely related to it would send him spiralling into a world of pain and memories he would never be able to escape...

The Slytherins had always been around. Salazar Slytherin had been their creator and very first leader. He led and band together the villains of the medieval era and they soon became known throughout the county for their treachery. After Slytherin's death the brotherhood disappeared, people no longer lived in fear to leave their homes or walk the streets after dusk. Crime itself never died, as expected, they still had their petty thieves and crooks but no one quite like the Slytherins. That was until the late 1600's. A brotherhood calling themselves by the same name appeared in Northern Scotland. Their leader: Tom Riddle, a well-known upper class character who had thrown away his ethical ways for a more intriguing and corrupt way of life.

Riddle had studied Slytherin and his work for half his life and knew exactly where to find those who would join him to rekindle and continue what Salazar had begun. The Slytherins became household names once again. But Riddle, unlike Salazar, had more on his mind than common street work, bigger plans of power and greed raged around his head. As his schemes became rash and wilder than anyone thought safe, his followers gradually began to fall away warning him his time was almost over, if he carried on like this, his downfall would be near.

Riddle didn't believe a word of the 'traitors' who had left him and he sought out to prove it. The members of the brotherhood who remained, sensed from the beginning it was never meant to be, as Riddle explained the plan, doubtful looks were exchanged amongst the men.

The crims positioned themselves outside the manor hoping that Riddle would come to his senses and call the attack off. But Riddle nodded and they reluctantly left their cover and went into the night towards the house, their instructions simple: brandish the knives, keep the situation under control and take anything they could carry.

The night watchmen had heard word that Riddle was planning an attack on the Potter Manor on that night, the night of their annual ball, and had sent warning.

The Slytherins burst into the manor ready to wipe the smiles off the faces of the aristocrats inside and rob them for all their worth. But instead they found no aristocrats dancing and chatting merrily with their friends whilst sipping wine, what they were confronted with was something Riddle hadn't counted on.

Three quarters of the Slytherins were gunned down on entrance. The other two apart from Riddle were tackled and cuffed, Riddle himself made it through the firing range and into the room where the guests were being held, one thing running through his mind- _I will not go down like this._

James watched in horror as the madman grabbed his wife and held a knife to her throat. The police stopped in their tracks and the room became deadly silent except for Riddle's ragged breathing.

"Come anywhere near me and I'll kill her," Riddle said sadistically.

"Tom, you've never done anything cold blooded like this, you're not a killer, you won't be able to go through with it," the constable said reasonably.

"Is that so?" asked Riddle grinning like a psychopath.

Lily felt the cold blade press harder against her flesh.

"Let her go, Tom."

"And what? You'll let me go free?" he let out a sharp cold laugh, "I don't think so."

The constable started walking slowing towards them. Riddles eyes grew wider with each step- it wasn't supposed to work like that.

"I don't think you understand the threat I'm making. If you come any closer I will kill her." He said through gritted teeth, " Maybe I need to make it a little clearer…"

Lily felt the blade slice into her neck and let out an agonized cry. Her blood began to seep from the wound and down Riddle's wrist.

"You bastard!" James screamed pushing past the police and running towards his wife.

"GET BACK!" screamed Tom, though his voice was full of alarm. "GET BACK!"

James didn't listen, Riddle was slammed to the floor, but in the process the knife sliced deeper into Lily's neck.

The scene unfolded like someone had shut the sound off to James's world. He slowly looked up from on top of Riddle to see the woman he loved look at him for the last time before she slipped away…

His head swung round on instinct as the door to the room burst open and a figure appeared holding a pistol. It was only later, as the bullet drove itself through him that he realised it had been one of Riddle's men who had been shot down earlier and presumed dead, but had somehow survived and sought out to help his leader. The man's name had been Peter, Peter Petigrew. Unlike the other Slytherins he had looked up to Riddle and never questioned his actions. He fired the shot hoping to aid his leader in their escape but had underestimated the power of the bullet; he never knew the outcome of his shot as he passed out from blood loss seconds later. The shot ripped through James and into Riddle, they died by the same bullet.

-

"I don't get it," said Harry. "How are the Malfoys connected to the Slytherins? I thought the Slytherins died out with…" he swallowed and whispered under his breath, "with Riddle."

"Are you sure you're all right talking about this?" asked George.

Harry nodded.

"Well, word from the street is the Londoners never saw Tom Riddle as a true Slytherin. He was an upper-class bloke for a start, which means he certainly didn't fit the birth class of a crook; he wasn't born into the streets, brought up like the rest of them. The only way he learnt the tricks of the trade was through research, no true criminal has to research their way of life, they're taught from the day they're born from their father. The true Slytherins knew how far to push things, what they should and shouldn't try, there were rules set down by Salazar himself back in the 1100's. Riddle never knew of the rules because they're nothing you can research, that's why his plans were so unheard of and ludicrous; he didn't know when to stop and how far to go, which ultimately lead to his downfall…" George looked awkwardly at his feet as the subject arose once again.

"But the one thing that stands Riddle outside of the real Slytherins," Fred continued, "is where he's from."

"What Riddle didn't know was that Slytherins were English born and bred, mostly from around London. The true Slytherins- Salazar's Slytherins- were still around, thought gone but were actually still there."

"That's right," said Fred, "When Riddle and his band suddenly appeared up in Scotland calling themselves something they were not, the true Slytherins knew something had to be done about him."

"That anonymous tip-off the watchmen received on _that_ night," George said, "From none other than Lucius Malfoy himself."

"Malfoy had spies in Riddle's followers. Riddle never suspected a thing."

"So," said Harry slowly mulling over all the information, "the true Slytherins have always been here in London? Riddle was never one?"

"Yep," said Fred.

"But I always thought Lucius Malfoy worked alone," Ron who had been quiet for a while suddenly spoke.

"Mostly," George said thinking, "he's famous for his solo work, but he's Slytherin through and through."

"So much so that he was their leader," added Fred, "though not anymore."

"No," said George, "Been passed down to-"

"Draco?" asked Harry.

"_Him?_" asked Ron in shock. "_He's _leader of the Slytherins?"

"Sure is," said Fred, "and a bloody good one too."

"Giving his father a run for his money, I'll say."

Harry thought it through. It was odd. He looked nothing like a pickpocket, he had seemed...different. Harry couldn't put his finger on it yet. There was still something annoying Harry about him, something that had caused his stomach to unclench and to let out a strange sigh of relief as he learnt the blonde wasn't connected to his parents murderer. Something that made him hope to meet this Draco Malfoy, leader of the brotherhood of the Slytherins again, perhaps then he would find out what it was.

He shook his head and came back to reality as Ron questioned Fred and George on just how exactly, did they come to know all this stuff about criminals?

**A/N: **Well, there you have it, another chapter down. Hope Lily and James's death wasn't too bad- pretty grim. And hope it all made sense, all explanations- if not and you've got questions, throw them at me and I'll get back to as soon as pos.

Trouble with the era in this chap: I wanted to include Scotland Yard, but alas that's 18oo's stuff. and also I had originally planned not kill Riddle and get him dragged off to that hell they call Australia where England decided to dump all their lot when their prisons got overcrowded- (a big shout out to the wonderful English- thanks guys for making us known for our criminal ancestry). BUT the story's set in the early 17oo's and Australia wasn't used as a dumping ground until 1788, so no one can be sent away. damn.

well interested to know what you thought of this chapter, all ears.

-Rogue


	3. Chapter Three

_Thief is Such a Harsh Word, Harry _

Before you begin this chapter I would like to point out being Australian I'm not exactly up on English currency- just basics, pounds etc; And I know that no ones really going to mind if it's all wrong because it's just a story but this is just something that annoys me that I don't know considering I'm trying to stay as close to the real thing as possible. So first of all, yes I'm Australian so the exchange rate stuffs me up first off, then there's the currency, then the era. I tried to find out the basic wage and cost of everything for the time to make this seem realistic but it's a lot harder than I thought. Everything's all over the place in prices and then you have the illogical 4 farthings to one penny, 12 pence to one shilling, Ten shillings and sixpence to half a guinea, Twenty shillings to one pound and Twenty-one shillings to one guinea- WTF?

So I've just gone with something that sounds kinda right and let's just assume this is quite a lot of money for the time. But a few facts for you all:

**1d (one penny)**Enough gin to get drunk on.

**2d (tuppence)**Enough gin to get dead drunk on:as the old advertising saw goes, "Drunk for a penny, dead drunk for tuppence."

Skip a lot of rubbish about men's silk ruffles and boat trips across the river- now to the real money:

**£1 1s (one guinea)**A fine beaver French lessons.

**£2 (two pounds)**Annual shaving and wig-dressing contract.

**£2 2s (two guineas)**A month's dancing lessons.

**£5**A silver hilted sword.

**£5 5s (five guineas)**A silver watch

**£6**Cost of a night out, including supper, a bath and a fashionable courtesan

-CHAPTER THREE-

Draco tossed the wallet onto the scrubbed wooden table as he passed it and headed towards the bookshelves that covered the back wall of the room. He picked up the candle and its holder from the small table next to the four worn green armchairs and lit it. The room immediately became enveloped in flickering shadow and light. He ran his index finger along the spines of the books searching for any that might hold some relevance to what he was wondering.

He let out a sigh and dropped his arm. That was one of the problems with a 'library' that held naught but books on thievery. Draco's brow furrowed as he swapped to a different shelf and began to read through the titles on that.

He was still searching the shelves when Blaise came up the stairs and into the room.

"You'll go blind trying to read in that light," Blaise told his friend. He waited for a response but Draco seemed too caught up in the books to have even heard. Shaking his head, he picked up a taper from the dresser and went about lighting the lamps around the room.

He turned to find Draco still at the shelves. "Draco?" he asked walking over and standing beside the blonde who was now staring intently at a book titled _Notorious Thieves of our Times. _"Ah, yes, read that one myself just last week, couldn't put it down." He grinned as a slim blonde eyebrow was raised and Draco turned to face him, also grinning.

"What on earth are you going on about?" Draco laughed looking at Blaise with a smirk on his lips. "You can't even read."

"Now, now," said Blaise, "Not all of us were brought up by the great Lucius Malfoy."

"I know, isn't it dreadful," said Pansy stepping from the last stair into the room. "Dresses well and reads, god, you're practically upper-class compared to us illiterate low-lives, Draco."

"She's right, mate," continued Blaise putting a hand on Draco's shoulder, "We better not lose you to the smarmy bastards. We know how their way of life appeals to you."

Draco snorted, "You think studying, getting a job and attending pointless social events with other upper-class snobs like myself, so my parents can organize the best marriage for me to some prissy girl _appeals_ to me?" He rolled his eyes and went back to the books shaking his head.

"Thank god, Panse," said Blaise grinning at Draco's response, "We haven't lost him to the dark side yet."

"It's a relief on my mind, I must admit," Pansy smiled at Draco before gazing around the room. "Where's the money?" she asked tilting her head to the side and staring intently back at the blond.

"Table," he muttered waving an arm in the table's general direction.

Blaise caught Pansy's eye, his own glinting mischievously before they both leapt to the table both trying to get there first for there was a great sense of thrill that came with counting one's earnings.

"Ha ha!" Blaise yelled triumphantly, thrusting the wallet into the air above their heads.

"Bastard," muttered Pansy but was just as eager to see how much was inside.

Blaise poured the wallet's contents onto the table; all the coins that attempted to roll away to freedom were thwarted in their actions as Blaise's hand came crashing down on them.

He carefully counted the coins and folds of paper into his palm. "Our red-headed friend has done us proud."

"How much?" asked Pansy.

"Twelve pound eighty," said Blaise with a sly smile. "No wonder he wouldn't give up without a chase."

"Mmm," said Pansy looking away from Blaise who had just muttered, "I think I'll count it again, just to make sure. What a snatch, he must've been saving for months…" She watched as Draco pulled another book from the shelf and flicked through a few pages. He slammed it shut and shoved it back onto the shelf frowning more than ever. It had been the fifth book he had looked at since she had come into the room.

She walked to one of the worn armchairs and sat down. "Draco, what are you doing?"

"Trying to find something," another book was pushed angrily back onto the shelf.

"Well obviously, but what?"

Draco sighed stepping away from the shelves and sunk down into a chair. "I don't know really. It's just I've had something on my mind and I don't think I can rest until I find out all I can behind it."

"Well," said Pansy slowly, "…what?"

Draco put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes before looking back up at her, "Did you get a good look at the boy that was with our target today?"

"Not really, I was more concentrating on the redhead. Why?"

"Well, his appearance, I don't know, it just seemed… familiar. Like someone I should know."

"Have you ever met him before?" asked Pansy slightly confused.

"No, that's the thing. I've never seen him in my life. But it wasn't _him_, it was how he looked," Draco looked up again to see Pansy more confused then ever. "Forget it, perhaps I'm just losing it."

"No," said Blaise from the table. He stood up and walked over to them, "I don't think you are. It was the eyes. They were, I agree, familiar, but…I…really don't know why."

Pansy sighed dramatically, "Will one of you please explain what you're talking about?"

"Dark hair, green eyes, glasses- ring any bells?" asked Blaise.

Pansy sat back in her chair deep in thought. "Perhaps you've read about him," she said to Draco. "Well not _him _but someone like him- a relative perhaps?"

"No, that can't be right because how would _I_ know about him then," asked Blaise.

"Blaise's right. But then…" Draco trailed off and picked up another book.

"You think he's a thief?" asked Blaise in shock. "Draco, didn't you see the way he was dressed, though I admit the hair could've done with some work, but look how much money his _friend _was carrying and he looked practically penniless compared to him."

Draco thought back to how disgusted he had been with the redhead's shabby choice of dress. "True, but anyone can look richer than _that _thing. But it was him that figured out what we'd done, no aristocrat's able to figure a plan like that out so fast, it was by far one of my better schemes. He must be one of us."

"And if it wasn't for him you wouldn't have had your well needed exercise Blaise, dear," smirked Pansy.

"So he figures out that we'd robbed his friend, big deal. That doesn't make him one of us," Blaise shot back.

"Then how do explain the familiarity?" asked Pansy, her smirk growing wider by the minute.

"For starters it didn't ring any bells with _you, _did it?" Blaise sneered at the girl, challenging her to come up with an explanation.

"Well…" Pansy said hopelessly.

"Actually," said Draco, Blaise frowned, the blonde's voice was different, almost disappointed, "he didn't know I was a thief."

"Well, there you have it everyone. Check and _mate_. There's no thief who hasn't heard of Draco Malfoy, if not by name then by appearance at least. It seems smart aristocrats- though few in numbers- do exist, and this is a classic example. Though of course," Blaise flicked a coin into the air and caught it again, "there are none who can outsmart the Slytherins."

"Point made," said Pansy yawning. "It's getting late, I'm off to bed."

Both boys watched as she disappeared down the stairs. Blaise looked over at Draco who was frowning at the bookcase again. "Don't lose sleep on it," he said getting up, "We need our leader to be awake for tomorrow's work, not dead after being stubborn enough to stay up all night just to figure out who some strange boy is."

Solo work was planned for the next day, which found Draco walking down a quiet street still pondering last night's thoughts.

_Harry, _his name had been Harry. But Harry who? A last name would help, probably explain everything. But just Harry, the name was useless to him on its own.

It was a nice name though, suited him.

He shook his head angrily. Who cared if it was a nice name? A _nice name _was all it was and no help whatsoever.

"Damnit Harry," he muttered to himself, "where do I know you from?"

He came out of the quiet street and onto a main road. Draco looked about his surroundings and realised it was the same street from yesterday. He caught himself looking around just in case the brunet was there again. He rolled his eyes at himself- the likelihood of Harry being in the same street at the same time for two days in a row was preposterous. Besides, what would he have done if he'd seen him anyway? Gone up to him- 'Morning Harry, I realise I did steal all your friend's savings just yesterday, but would you be able to tell me your last name because otherwise I think I may die from not knowing.'

It was true. Not being able to figure out where he knew this boy from was beyond irritating.

He told himself to stop thinking about it. It wasn't important, what was though, was getting some work done.

Draco pushed Harry to the furthest part of his mind as he searched for a good target. His eye was immediately drawn to a man halfway down the street. The flash of silver around his wrist and the slightly confused expression on his face was enough to convince Draco. The Slytherin took off down the street, carefully weaving his way though the crowd. He made sure to act casual, stopping three quarters of the way to help a young woman into a carriage.

She gave him a gracious smile. Draco smiled back causing the girl to blush slightly which made the blonde smirk. He gave her a wink before sighting his target again and ducking back into the crowd.

"Hang on, Hermione, tell the driver to wait, Harry and I are almost there."

Draco stopped in his tracks. That voice. He spun round. Emerging onto the doorstep of a home was the redhead. _'Harry and I are almost there.'_

Draco was torn. He looked back down the street in the other direction. The man was crossing the road; he'd have to act quickly.

"Just get into the coach, I'll be there in a minute," the redhead's voice wafted down to Draco.

He looked back just in time to see a leg disappear into the carriage he had just helped the girl into. The redhead appeared again closing the front door and rushing over to the coach. He told something to the driver before climbing in and shutting the door. The driver gave the reins a flick and the horse began to trot. Draco watched as the carriage passed, inside he could make out the figures of the girl, the redhead and a third: _Harry_. The horse began to pick up speed and the carriage disappeared down the road and out of sight.

Draco shook his head suddenly, waking from the daze of staring after the carriage and looked back to where his target had been. Nothing. He skimmed the crowd on both sides of the road. There was no sign of the man.

"Blast," he muttered through clenched teeth.

No longer in the mood for finding and tracking another target, Draco began to walk slowly back up the street. Harry was back on his mind more than ever. _What was it about him? _Draco suddenly realised he had stopped walking, he looked up and found himself standing outside the house Harry and the redhead had come out of. A sly smile began to play on his lips as a plan began to form in his head.

Glancing around the street he took note that no one was paying particular attention to him. Hands in his coat pockets he walked purposely onto the doorstep and up to the door.

He rapped three times on the door before putting his hand back into his pocket. He listened intently. Silence. He wrapped his finger around the small lock pick in his pocket and calmly leant up against the door slipping his hand from the coat pocket and up to the lock. From his other pocket he pulled a small book. He flicked to a random page and began to 'read with interest' whilst he pressed the pick into the lock and began to push at the gears inside. He strained his ears, listening out for the click. A frown began to form on his head, there was a strange fumbling sound coming from the door. Surely he wasn't making that much noise…

Without warning the door swung open. Draco's hands flew behind his back and he quickly rearranged his face from a look of shock to that of dignity and self-confidence. The look didn't last long though as he took in the tall redhead at the door.

Both males realised they were staring at the same time but Draco was first to react, his original sly smile plastered firmly back on his face, and this time it was real. "Well, well, well, look who we have here," his eyes filled with understanding and a hint of relief.

"Great Scot," breathed Fred.

Draco's smile turned into a smirk, he loved making an entrance.

"Blimey," Fred said with just as much awe. "George, I think you'd better come here."

"Why?" came the reply from the other room.

"We, ah, we have a visitor," Fred yelled back not taking his eyes from the blonde at the door.

"And why aren't you capable of-" George stopped abruptly as he saw Draco, eyes wide.

"Yes, I seem to have that effect, don't I?" said the blonde.

The twins said nothing. Draco was left at a slight loss as to what to say next.

Although upper-class, both Fred and George Weasley were well known on the streets. A few months earlier the pair had satisfied a dream that had had for years. They had set up a small tavern in the lower quarters of London unbeknownst to their family. For what well-respected sons would tell their parents the past few years of study were being thrown away for a bar practically located in the gutters themselves? The twins had always been fascinated by the ease and carefree attitude the lower-class lived by and had always wanted to be a part of that world, away from the starched suits and rules of etiquette, the formal dinners and polite conversations. But unfortunately for the two brothers it seemed life was never going to go that way for them, or so they thought until they met an intriguing Irish fellow who went by the name of Seamus Finnigan.

Seamus had grown up on the streets of Northern Ireland and at the age of fourteen decided there had to be more to life, so with all his belongings, which at the time were nothing more than a pocket watch of his father's and the clothes on his back, he snuck aboard a ship on its way to England. Two years past before Seamus and the twins met and during this time he made a good name for himself amongst the other thieves and learnt all there was to know about the Londoners and their ways.

It was a muggy day in August when the trio finally came together. Upon first glance the two redheads looked nothing more than the average upper classer: looking and smelling of wealth. Seamus had felt they were the perfect targets and it wasn't often that you found aristocrats wandering around the lower quarters; luck would've had to have been on his side. The Irishman didn't realise how wrong he was until he found himself being held down by the pair.

"I believe you have something of ours," George said looking at the young man inquisitively.

"Do I just?" asked Seamus raising an eyebrow.

"Don't play innocent," said Fred, "Left or right pocket do you think, George?"

George eyed the coat. "Right."

Fred began to reach towards the pocket.

"Eh, eh, eh!" cried Seamus trying to twist away from the arm but finding it rather difficult due to the fact he had his arms pinned to the ground by the other brother.

"Squirmy little bugger, in'e," said George grinning.

Fred stuck his hand into Seamus's pocket and pulled out the two wallets as well as a wad of crumpled notes and various other valuables.

"Hands off, that's mine," yelled Seamus wondering why no one else was around at this time of day. This was thieves' territory, surely someone would be around to hear him yelling and come to help.

"Yours, you say?" asked Fred, he looked at George, "What should we do with this crook? Hand him over to the authorities?"

"Sounds good to me," said George.

"No," said Seamus, "I beg of you, I'll do anything, just not the police." The Irish boy grimaced at himself for dropping to the level of pleading with the smarmy prats.

"You know Fred, I think this young man is exactly the person we're looking for."

"I think so," Fred grinned, "You see…ah-"

"Seamus."

Fred nodded, "Seamus, we've come down here because we're curious…"

From that day on the trio had become good friends and Seamus had taught Fred and George everything there was to know about thieves: who to look out for, what makes you an obvious target and of course about the notorious Slytherins. In turn the twins told Seamus of their dream. Seamus loved the idea, a place where all the thieves in London could hang around and lodge if they wished, without running the risk of being recognised for who they really were- something which happened a lot when they tried to go to the local tavern. In early October Seamus arrived on the twins' doorstep announcing he had found the perfect location. It was an abandoned inn in one of the darkest parts of lower London, the centre of the thieving community, somewhere that suited Fred and George perfectly. The three did the place up and by the end of the month it was a thriving establishment. Fred and George became respected amongst the thieves, some of the few upper class that were given this honour. They were let in on tricks of the trade and told stories that no esteemed aristocrat could even dream of knowing.

But although being the most well-known place for thieves, a place all of them were proud to say they'd been, there were a few, a particular brotherhood to be precise who had never graced the twins with their presence. This was something the twins had always been disappointed by. So to find the leader of that particular brotherhood, London's most notorious criminal of the time, standing on their doorstep was not something either boy had ever counted on.

"So, that one who just left, your brother, is he? The one I, ah, robbed yesterday?" Draco smiled, nodding in thought. "Should've known he was a Weasley, but honestly I would've thought you two had taught him better. You do realise he was flashing money, I really couldn't have let him off lightly."

George opened his mouth to say something but closed it again.

Draco sighed; this conversation was going nowhere fast, deciding there was no point in skirting around finding the answer to what had been plaguing him for the past twenty-four hours he put his hands back in his coat pockets and put on a pleasant expression. "Your brother's friend, why do I get the impression I know him from somewhere?"

"Harry?" asked Fred finally getting over his shock and frowning slightly.

Draco nodded.

"You get the impression you know Harry?" asked George. He shot a look at his brother Draco found impossible to read.

"Yes, I think we've established that, now do you two know any reason why or should I just go and perhaps tell a few of your dear customers that I may have overheard a conversation that you two are planning to do us in when the time is right?" It seemed pleasantries weren't going to be the way to get the information he needed. He smiled cruelly at the twins' faces of utter shock.

"Well, I can see how you made leader then," said Fred in admiration, "that's down right nasty."

"You wouldn't though would you?" asked George mildly concerned.

"Dare to try me?" asked Draco.

"But they wouldn't believe…" Fred stopped mid-sentence, "Blimey, they would."

"So, Harry, who is he?" prompted Draco looking insistently at them.

George sighed and looked at Fred one more time who nodded, before answering.

"Potter," he said and walked back into the house.

"Potter?" repeated Draco raising an eyebrow.

"Harry Potter," said Fred.

"That's it?" the blonde asked frustrated. "That's all you're going to tell me? That means nothing."

"I think you'll find it does mean something to you Draco, I think you'll find it means _a lot_."

Fred smiled as realisation appeared in the grey eyes.

"The Potter's didn't-"

Fred just nodded and turned to shut the door.

"Wait," said Draco.

Fred turned back around.

"Thanks."

Fred smiled, never in his life had he thought he'd find himself being thanked by the Slytherin leader himself. "Anytime. Though I do have a question for you?"

"Mmm?" the Blonde looked at the redhead sceptically.

"Why have you never come to the tavern?"

Draco had to think about his answer, so few knew the true reason… though the two _had_ just helped him ease his mind's suffering. "We have our reasons," he said slowly, "and we keep them to ourselves…"

Fred sighed; it had been the answer he was expecting.

"But," said Draco, Fred's eyes lit again, "perhaps sometime we may wave these reasons."

Fred grinned as the thief gave him a nod and vanished into the crowd. His first ever meeting with the Slytherin Prince and he had sure been something.

**A/N: **Well there we have it another chapter down. And I'm looking for suggestions as to what to call Fred and George's tavern. Anyone got any ideas?

As always any questions comments all appreciated and I'll get back to you with answers as soon as possible.

And now I'm off to bed with just 21 and a half hours till Australia play Brazil at the World Cup tonight- Midnight timeslot on TV- awesome. GO THE SOCCEROOS!

-Rogue


	4. Chapter Four

**Had this ready on Wednesday, but wasn't able to upload till today, sorry guys, but here we are at last..**

_Thief is Such a Harsh Word, Harry _

**NOTE: **Lucius Malfoy is severely out of character in this chapter. This is because I don't like the idea that Draco tries his hardest to impress his father and make him proud of him and still fails. Thus Draco is now the proud owner of a new and improved (well not really improved, just in my eyes, though the original Lucius is still brilliant) proud father.

-CHAPTER FOUR-

Lucius Malfoy rose from his armchair in front of the roaring fireplace by the third knock. He closed the diary, removed his reading glasses and placed both on the small table beside the chair. Rubbing his eyes he left the small drawing room and walked down the hall to the staircase. He took note that the knocking had stopped after the third rap and smiled, it could only be one person.

He pulled the front door open to reveal a young man, the spitting image of himself as he had looked twenty odd years ago.

"Father," said Draco nodding hello.

Lucius stood back to let his son in, unable to contain the smile that spread across his lips.

It had been at least a month since the two remaining Malfoys had seen each other. There was always a considerable amount of time between each visit, time in which Lucius always found himself longing to see and talk with his son again. Three years ago he had been eager to hand down his title to Draco and go into early retirement, he'd had enough of the rush and hard work of thieving, all he wanted to do was settle down away from it all. He'd had his run- a _great _run, and Draco had the making of a fine Slytherin leader, something he had always seen in his son. So he had easily given it away, knowing it was going into able hands, perhaps the hands of someone better than he. He had vanished from the thieving world that day and according to news from Draco, was presumed dead by many. Lucius left that world behind and moved into upper-London, into a home his dear wife had once lived in. But after leaving it all behind Lucius found himself longing to have it back, for the life he lived now was far less interesting and a rather lonely one at that.

Lucius shut the door, stopping more of the freezing wind to enter the house. Draco removed his coat and hung it on the stand by the door before looking up to find his father gazing at him, it was a tad unnerving. "Yes, it has been a long time, hasn't it?"

Lucius nodded and rubbed his eyes again. "So," he said eyeing his son, "I'm assuming by that look in your eye this isn't just a humble 'let's see how old daddy's getting on' kind of visit."

Both men began to laugh. Lucius let the feeling wash all over him; it felt great to be able to interact with another person.

Draco smiled at his father in wonderment, "You really must teach me how you know these things. I'm here, what, _a minute_? And already you know _by the look in my eye _I'm here for more than a general chat."

"I think you know enough of my tricks as it is and that's one I'm particularly fond of. Besides, you're already outdoing me in my old profession, I really need something I can have over you," Lucius began to lead the way up the stairs.

Draco smiled softly at the praise, "Fine, but answer me this."

"Mmm?" the older man pushed open the door to the drawing room.

"What look in my eye?" Draco sighed in content as the warmth from the fire took over his body.

Lucius turned round and looked at his son's face thoughtfully. "That one," he said pointing.

Draco rolled his eyes but walked over to the mirror on the wall all the same to examine this _look_.

"So what is it?" Lucius sat down in his armchair and watched the younger man.

"I have some questions," said Draco slowly, walking towards the chair opposite his father and sitting down.

"Why me?" asked Lucius curiously, "Surely someone closer to home would know the answer."

Draco shook his head.

"Ok then, what?"

"Did the Potters' have a child?" he asked outright.

Lucius sat up a little straighter, the feeling that always came whenever the Potters were mentioned flooded his body. It was the feeling of guilt.

"Draco, you know I don't like talking about this subject," he whispered looking into the flames.

Draco sighed as he watched his father, "Father, you can't blame yourself for something that wasn't you fault."

"It was my fault," the man said in a hoarse voice.

"We've been through this a hundred times. Riddle would've killed them anyway, them and a lot more. It's because of you lives were spared and Riddle is gone."

"We don't know that, he mayn't have harmed any of them. If I hadn't done anything they would still be here."

"Or they might still be dead," Draco said frustrated, "Father, whether you want to believe it or not, you did the right thing, something anyone in your position would have done. If there's blame to be laid on anyone for their death it's on Riddle."

Lucius took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He'd told himself the same thing a thousand times but still the feeling remained. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the death of Lily and James Potter.

He looked back to find Draco looking at him closely, concern splashed across his pale features. "Ok. You're right. It's not my fault," he lied but was thankful to see the look of relief fill his son's eyes. "What was your question?"

"Did the Potters' have a child?" Draco asked.

More guilt swept over Lucius but he pushed it away, "Yes, they did."

Draco was staring at him hoping for more. Lucius sighed and continued, "A boy. Your age. I can't remember his name…"

"Harry?" Draco supplied.

"Yes…yes, that sounds right. He wasn't there _that _night- they don't like having children at these formal things so I believe he was staying at his godfather's. After it happened I read somewhere that Black, the godfather, brought him down to England, the family had been living in their Scottish estate. Black wanted to keep him as far away as possible from it. But it wasn't long after that Black died…"

"How?"

"I really don't know, but the last I heard of young Mr Potter he was at boarding school."

Draco sat quietly thinking, _not anymore_.

-

Harry tried to ease his boredom by examining the carriage's furnishings.

"_Harry?_"

He looked up from the red cushioning on the seat upon realising someone was talking to him.

"It was _him _again," said Ron angrily, "He must be bloody stalking me or something."

Harry frowned, "Sorry, who are we talking about Ron?"

"That bastard who stole my money."

"Draco Malfoy?" asked Harry, interest suddenly spiking. "Where?"

"Hanging around outside Fred and George's," said Ron bitterly.

"Honestly Ron, for a thief he seemed quite charming," said Hermione, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks as she remembered the blonde winking at her.

"How on earth could a _thief_ seem _charming_?" Ron asked staring at her flabbergasted.

"He stopped and helped me into the carriage when no one else glanced twice at me."

"He helped you into the carriage?" Ron yelled, "Who the hell does he think he is touching you with his filthy hands?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Some people are just kind like that, Ron and besides, his hands were _far_ from filthy, something I really don't think you can talk about."

Hermione looked back out the carriage window as Ron stared at her completely thrown-off. "But he's a thief," he muttered angrily to no one in particular.

Harry couldn't help but notice the look of jealousy written across his friend's face and almost laughed as Ron looked at the palm of his hand and wiped it on his pants.

He followed Hermione's lead and began to gaze out the window. Night was slowly falling over London. He began to wonder as he frequently did on the trip back home, why Fred and George lived so close to lower-London and so far away from everyone else of their stature. He'd really have to ask them one day.

"Are you sure you don't want to come, Harry?" Harry looked away from the window to find Hermione looking at him, "I mean considering you are paying and all. I really don't feel right that we're spending your money and you're not there to enjoy a cent of it."

Harry smiled back at her, "No, this is _my _treat for you two. I don't want to be there like a third wheel or something."

Hermione smiled, "It's nice of you though, you really needn't have gone to the trouble."

"Well, you two were going out anyway, _I _was the one who suggested we go to Fred and George's yesterday if it hadn't been for that Ron would still have his money. So it was the only thing I could see to do to help my friends."

"Thanks mate," said Ron. "I definitely owe you one for this."

"Don't bother," said Harry looking back to the window, away from Ron and Hermione eyeing each other.

Harry looked at the street sign as they turned the corner, thank god they were almost at the theatre. He didn't know how much longer he could stand being in the carriage with the pair. They were his best friends, always had been, but now things were changing between the three and the change didn't seem to be coming out in Harry's favour. His ears suddenly picked up a playful slap as he watched a flickering streetlamp. The sound was closely followed by an attempted hushed whisper of, " _Not in front of Harry_." Harry tried to block out the subsequent giggle as he leant closer to the window.

"This is the street now," he said in the pleasantest voice he could muster.

"Ah, excellent. Thanks again, Harry," said Ron getting up and opening the door. He stepped down to the street outside and held out a hand to Hermione.

"Yes, thanks again, Harry," she said taking Ron's hand.

"Have fun," Harry said as the carriage door swung shut. He let out a sigh. The carriage began to move on again, now on its way to Harry's home. Darkness had completely fallen and Harry noticed it was a full moon. He smiled, his agitated nerves relaxing, the moon always reminded him of one of his father's friends. I wonder what happened to dear old Lupin, he thought as the horse turned down his street only a block from the theatre. He tossed the thought away as he watched a lone figure walking down the footpath fifty metres up ahead. By the way they were walking they seemed very confident and knowing of the area, which was odd because Harry was sure he'd never seen the person around here before. He began to watch the figure more intently and his eyes lit with interest as the moonlight caught the person's hair lighting it a silvery blonde.

"Stop here," he called to the driver, quickly pulling on his coat and climbing from the carriage. He paid the fare and waited until the carriage was out of sight before walking up the street after the blonde. Harry frowned, he couldn't see him anywhere, he began to walk faster.

At last he caught sight of him twenty metres ahead, Harry began to close the gap. The blonde turned down an alley way and Harry followed suit only to find the alley pitch black and empty. He walked forward slowly, squinting into the darkness.

Without warning an arm was flung around him clamping his arms to his sides and something cold and hard was pressed to his neck.

"It's not safe to be walking the streets alone at this hour," Draco whispered into his captive's ear. "You really must learn to tread more softly when you're attempting to follow someone."

The hairs on Harry's neck prickled as the words were whispered, Draco's breath tickling his skin. Though at the moment the thought of how close the blonde was to his face was far from his mind. All Harry could think of was the blade against his throat. "Ok, please, just take the knife away from my neck," he managed to whisper.

Draco frowned. The voice triggered something in his memory. He slowly lowered the knife and let go of his grasp around the boy's waist. The figure turned around to reveal an incredibly white Harry Potter with his eyes shut, rubbing his neck and breathing heavily.

Draco's eyes widened as he was suddenly filled with thoughts of how Lily Potter had been killed- a knife to the throat. "Shit, I'm sorry," he said eyeing Harry warily and slipping the knife back into his coat pocket.

Harry managed to get his breathing under control, took one last deep breath and opened his eyes. "No, I shouldn't have been following you in the first place."

Upon seeing Harry was fine Draco began to gain his original composure. "Yes, now tell me, why were you following me exactly? Because if you're trying to seek some sort of glory by single-handedly catching me and handing me over _just _because I stole your friend's money, I really wouldn't bother. The police are having a hard enough time as it is." He smirked at the brunet.

"There isn't much stopping me from catching you right now," said Harry studying Draco carefully.

"True," said Draco, "but if your capturing skills are as good as your following ones, again, I wouldn't bother, but feel free to try." He held both arms out to the sides gesturing Harry forward.

Harry didn't move.

"Thought as much," Draco dropped his arms, most of his bravado dropping with them. "So why were you following me? Because honestly if it's about your friend's money I've already explained to his brothers he was asking for it."

"No, I know he was," Harry agreed.

"So why the following?" asked Draco casting a curious glance at the boy.

"I have my reasons," Harry said slyly, causing a grin to pull at the blonde's lips.

Draco laughed, "With that kind of response you could make a fine thief." He pulled a pocket watch from his coat and checked the time. He looked back up at Harry. "I meant it when I said it's not safe to walk the streets alone at night, even for you. Come on."

Harry followed Draco out of the alleyway and back onto the footpath along the main road.

"Draco?" he asked.

The blonde stopped, perplexed to hear the name come from the brunet and wondered how he knew it.

"What are you doing up here? I didn't know thieves ventured so far from lower-London."

"We don't," Draco said as Harry fell in beside him and they continued on down the street.

"So why are you up here?"

"I have my reasons," he glanced over to see Harry trying to push back an amused smile.

"So you're walking all the way back to lower-London?" the brunet queried.

"Yep," said Draco.

"Christ. Why don't you just take a carriage?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Sometimes I really can't understand how an educated mind can ask such a stupid question."

"Oh," Harry felt the heat rising in his cheeks and pulled his coat collar up to hopefully hide it from the blonde's eyes. "Sorry, I didn't think." Harry stared hard at the dimly lit path ahead, surprised at himself. "That _was_ a stupid question, wasn't it?"

"No worry, Potter, I understand you lot don't see fit to waste your education when talking to someone like me."

Harry opened his mouth to apologise again, but paused, _Potter_?

The thief caught his eye, the silver of his own flashing in the lamp light, almost daring him to ask. Harry looked him over deep in thought before turning away.

"This is my home just up ahead," he said, nodding at a house which would have had to have been, in Draco's eyes, one of the best around, "and as I'm not planning on stalking any other thieves between here and my door step, as much as I've loved having the leader of the Slytherins as my chaperone, your assistance is no longer required."

Draco drew his eyes slowly from the house and back to the brunet, cocking an eyebrow, "Do you realise how much of a stuck-up prat you sound using terms like that? But as you wish- if my _chaperoning assistance _is _no longer required _then I'll be off." Draco stooped into a bow; "It's been a pleasure to meet you again, Master Potter."

Harry snorted, shaking his head, "Five years at boarding school surrounded by other rich prats like myself and not ending up talking like them is harder than I thought."

"Perhaps someone needs to teach you some proper English," suggested Draco.

Harry frowned and tilted his head to side, "_Proper _English?"

"English from the streets of the country themselves, not this posh nonsense you people pay to learn. Honestly, over half the country wouldn't have understood your last few sentences," Draco pointed out.

"Is that really so? I'd be willing to learn but where do I find a teacher of _proper English_?" asked Harry pushing his hands into his coat pockets.

"Here and there," said Draco with a grin on his face that made Harry wonder what on earth the blonde was thinking. "They're few in numbers, but perhaps if you're good and we meet again of course, I'll be able to find you one."

"Sounds excellent," said Harry.

"_Great_," corrected Draco. "Sounds _great_."

"_Great_," repeated Harry, grinning.

"So until next time," said Draco.

"If there is a next time," Harry pointed out.

"Oh, I've a feeling there will be," Draco gave a quick salute and began to cross the road before turning back. "Goodbye Master Potter, it was an absolute _honour_ being your chaperone tonight."

Harry watched as he disappeared down the street, watching until he was out of sight. He walked the ten metres to his house and unlocked the door, amazed that the evening had taken such an interesting turn. It seemed forever and a day had passed since he had left Hermione and Ron at the theatre. It seemed like he had known the fiendish Draco Malfoy for years yet as he thought about it, it had only been just yesterday they had met. He wondered if Draco was right in thinking they'd meet again. Harry found himself hoping so for there was something that came to him whilst being around the thief that was never there around Ron or Hermione. And like all things that were connected with the Slytherin, Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it.

**A/N: **"Excellent" we all cry, at last some interaction between our two heroes (or whatever you want to call them). I've decided that thieves swear but not upper-class- they're far beyond that. Not words like 'fuck' just casual things that might've been around. Of course Ron is an exception with his 'bloody this and what-not'.

So there's another chapter down and I'm still on the look out for a name for Fred and George's tavern. (Why can't you just get off your ass and come up with one yourself? Pfff, I just churned out another chapter in two days, I can't do every bloody thing here) nah, if I don't get anymore suggestions I'll hit the books and find something I like that suits them. And thanks to the two people who have given suggestions so far. As to the rest of you- hang your heads in shame, you read my story which I pour my heart and soul into and you don't even have the decency to fulfil a simple request to come up with a name for a pub. May god have mercy on you all. But enough crap, any questions, queries, general suggestions, comments?- all will be replied to as soon as I can get back to you.

Until next time -Rogue


	5. Chapter Five

_Thief is Such a Harsh Word, Harry_

Apologies all round for the lateness (and any reviews I may have missed in replying to, I think I got them all but I'm not sure, sorry if I missed you). I'd planned to have this out a week ago, but it seems teachers think it a brilliant idea to keep the tests and homework running until the very last day of term, leaving aspiring young authors with no time on their hands. Though not really sure if I could call myself that considering that would mean I'd have to write something with my own characters. We'll see.

-CHAPTER FIVE-

Blaise carefully eased the door open and slipped in through the crack. He crept quietly across the room to the cabinet opposite the door. Slowly he pulled open the top drawer and looked inside. A quick rummage through the assortment of odds and ends in it proved his search unsuccessful. He pushed the drawer back in and opened the second as quietly as the first. Again, nothing. He continued with the same stealth until he closed the fifth and final drawer. He sat back on his heels with a sigh of relief.

"I take that sigh means you didn't find anything," said a voice from behind.

Blaise cringed. He cleared his throat, "Honestly Draco, I didn't expect to find anything." He reluctantly got to his feet and turned around. Draco stood behind him, arms folded with a look of amusement on his lips in anticipation for Blaise's myriad of excuses to weasel himself out of the wrong.

"You see, I heard from Finnigan that Flint's been telling people you've been holding out on us," Blaise paused to see Draco's reaction.

"Has he really? Still pissed we didn't let him in, eh?" he said thoughtfully. Marcus Flint had tried to join the Slytherins a year ago but Draco had turned him down. It had been nothing personal, although none of the Slytherins particularly liked the man, it was, as Draco had explained to him, in Salazar's rules that Slytherins were blood born, and no one was able to just join. Flint had refused to believe the rules still applied and had decided that the reason he wasn't being let in was because Draco hadn't wanted someone that may have given him a run for his money working along side him. Of course none of this was true, Flint was a hopeless thief, known only for his brutality. But ever since being turned down Flint had made it his duty to seek revenge on the blond and his brotherhood.

"I think he's trying to turn us against you again," said Blaise.

"And I just caught you rummaging through my drawers because…" Draco raised an eyebrow, "…you were trying to prove him wrong?"

"Exactly!" said Blaise.

Draco laughed.

"Ok, I admit, I thought you weren't here and so I decided to just check. I didn't really believe you'd been keeping profits from us. I was just curious."

"Fair enough," said Draco knowing he would have done the same. He sat down on the bed and lay back. "But, Blaise, please tell me you'll never attempt to rob someone's house. Honestly, has it never occurred to you to check and see if anyone's in the room before you enter?"

Blaise went slightly red, "You were watching me the whole time, weren't you?"

"Yep," said Draco grinning.

Blaise sat down cross-legged next to Draco on the bed, "You bastard!" he laughed, "Why didn't you bloody say something?"

"I wanted to know what you were up to. It's not everyday you find your best-friend skulking into your room."

"Bloody hell, I must've looked like a right idiot. But cut me some slack here, I didn't think you were home. I even checked to see if you'd left any profits upstairs, there weren't any from you so that and the fact that I hadn't seen you come in made me think you weren't here. Where'd you get off to yesterday?"

"Went to visit the king," said Draco staring at the ceiling.

"Oh," said Blaise, "and how is his majesty?"

"He's been reading mother's diaries again," Draco closed his eyes, "I don't think he's ever going to let her go."

"Well, that's how it is when you're in love with someone," said Blaise reasonably, "or so I've heard."

"You've been listening to Pansy too much," Draco muttered, "She's rubbing off on you."

"No, I haven't. That's just something everyone knows. When a loved one dies it's impossible to move on straight away," Blaise watched the frowning blond carefully.

"Seven years is a lot longer than straight away, Blaise. Besides, I've moved on. Why can't he?" Draco said firmly.

Without warning he got up from the bed and walked quickly from the room.

Blaise watched knowingly. "You shouldn't have to deny missing your mother, Draco," he said to the doorway.

-

Fred flinched in his seat at the sound of the three knocks on the front door. He closed the newspaper and walked to the window. Carefully pulling the curtain back a fraction he peered out. He was relieved to see it was not their guest from yesterday. He let go of the curtain and went to open the door.

"Harry," he said pulling it open, grinning.

Harry smiled back but to Fred he seemed slightly distant.

"What?" asked Fred slowly. Harry was staring at the door.

"I think," said Harry, a thoughtful furrow forming on his brow as he spoke, "that someone's tried to break in…"

He squatted down in front of the lock. Fred leant over him to have a closer look himself. Harry reached up and pulled a thin metal rod from the lock. He held it up to the light so Fred could see it more clearly.

"That sneaky bastard," muttered Fred in disbelief, taking the pick from Harry to examine it more closely. "No wonder he looked so guilty when I opened the door." He turned the pick around in his fingers. Harry was sure he was searching for something.

"But surely he's beyond something like that," Fred was thinking out loud, "Though who else could it have been?"

He turned around and walked into the house still inspecting the pick. Harry followed, shutting the door behind him with an amused smile on his lips directed towards Fred's behaviour.

He found the twin sitting at a desk in the back room holding the pick up to a lit candle. Harry went and stood over him wondering what Fred was looking for. The small rod was turned over in his fingers yet again. The redhead stopped the motion suddenly and leant forward bringing the rod right up to his eye. Harry watched as a satisfied grin spread across his face. "There…" he whispered.

Harry leant forward and took the pick from Fred, squinting at the place where Fred had been looking. At first he saw nothing, but then as he peered closer he saw it, a minuscule engraved… "A snake?" he asked.

"The Slytherin snake," Fred said triumphantly, blowing out the candle.

"So a Slytherin tried to break in?"

"Oh no, Harry," Fred grinned and turned in his chair to face the brunet. "Not just any Slytherin. The snake is the mark of Salazar which means this pick is very unique. Things that are marked are one of a kind and very few people hold them in their possession."

"So how do we know which of them owns this one?" asked Harry looking to Fred keenly.

"Simple. Salazar's things are passed down from a select person to another. From leader to leader, to be precise."

Harry's eyes widened. "So he was here. He was telling the truth when he said he'd spoken to you about Ron."

"Of course I was, Harry. Just because I'm a thief doesn't mean I lie… much."

Harry and Fred turned around to face the room's entrance behind them. There, leaning against the doorframe with a traditional Malfoy smirk on his face was none other than the young Slytherin leader himself.

"This sneaking up on people business is really quite something, the look on your faces," Draco pushed off the wall and walked towards them.

"How the hell did you get in?" asked an astonished Fred.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Surely you of all people can figure that one out. They're called locks and are really quite pointless if you don't put them to use."

Harry looked to floor realising the mistake was his own, while Fred shook his head in disbelief.

"You know, you thieves aren't really as devious as you're cracked up to be. Walking in already unlocked doors, where's the effort in that?" asked the twin.

"It's not our fault you people make it easier for us," said Draco. "And even if you had locked the door, I'd still've found a way in."

"Even without this?" asked Harry holding up the pick.

"Yeah, I thought you guys were useless without your picks," said Fred grinning.

"No, that's just Finnigan," said Draco coolly. "There are ways into houses other than picking locks."

"Yeah, like walking in already unlocked doors," laughed Fred.

Draco shot him a piercing look, "I can see how you and Finnigan make such great pals."

Harry frowned, lost. He glanced to Fred, "Who's Finnigan?".

The question received him a confused frown from Draco and a worried look from Fred. Draco was first to respond, "You don't know who-"

"He's just a friend," Fred cut in and shot a warning look at the thief.

Draco frowned for a minute more before realisation hit him. He began to smile slyly, "So none of them-?"

Fred shook his head forcefully hoping Draco would just shut up and leave.

"Well, this is interesting," said the blond.

Harry watched the pair closely, trying desperately to follow but failing miserably. He suddenly wondered something that seemed very clear by the way the pair were interacting. "How long have you two known each other?"

Draco turned around and smiled at Harry as Fred's face filled with even more panic.

"Ever since the twins opened the-"

"Harry," Fred said loudly over the top of Draco. "Just give him his stupid pick so he can _leave_."

"That's not very good hospitality," the opportunity was too good for Draco to miss, "I would've expected better from you Fred. I mean, I've heard the service at The-"

"GET OUT!" yelled Fred. "Just take your bloody pick and leave!"

Draco laughed, his eyes glinting. "Surely this isn't how you treat your customers?"

One look at Fred's face made it clear to Harry that Draco was skating on thin ice, but the blond seemed to be enjoying it. Harry was finding it rather fascinating watching the two even if he still had no clue what they were talking about.

"Customers?" he asked.

Fred let out a grown and put his head in his hands.

Draco bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing. "Yes Fred, do tell Harry about your wonderful customers. I think my damage is done." He winked at Harry and Harry couldn't help but grin. "If you will Harry," said Draco holding out his hand.

For a second Harry thought Draco was implying that he take his hand, then realised Draco was referring to the pick he still held. Shaking his head slightly and cursing himself for thinking such stupid things he placed the small pick onto the thief's hand. Draco's fingers snapped shut around it and he quickly pocketed it.

"Fred, I think you have some explaining to do," the blond gave the redhead a nod good bye, flashed a charming grin Harry's way and walked from the room, hands in his coat pockets.

Fred looked up to find Harry eyeing him questioningly. "I will explain. It was going to come out sooner or later. I guess we should tell everyone, maybe not mum and dad though." Fred looked thoughtfully out the window wondering just how his parents would react to the news.

"Tell everyone what exactly?" asked Harry.

"George and I…" Fred began.

"Where is George?" Harry asked suddenly.

Fred sighed, "He's at…he's…"

Harry frowned. He had never seen Fred look so stressed and unsure of himself.

"Christ. We knew this would happen one day. One slip of the tongue and our whole world would come crashing down around us," Fred said dismally. "Mum and Dad are going to kill us when they find out."

"But what if they don't have to find out?" Harry said quietly, a strange twinkle flashed in his eyes.

"It'd be good, Harry, but think about it. You practically know, it's only a matter of time before everyone else does," Fred looked glumly out the window. Small flecks of water began to sprinkle against the glass and gradually run down it.

The mischievous twinkle spread from Harry's eyes to his lips, "There seems to be one key step missing from your prediction. You see, what happens if I say nothing?"

"If you say nothing…" Fred whispered under his breath whilst watching a drop of water trail down the window.

Harry's grin broadened as the usual spark in Fred's eyes appeared and he leapt from his chair, grabbing the brunet by the shoulders grinning an equally as large smile.

"If you say nothing! Genius!" Fred cried. He dropped his grip on Harry's shoulders and eyed him warily. "You promise to tell no one?"

"He won't tell a soul and I'll make sure of it."

Fred didn't even bother turning around, "I thought you'd left."

"Hasn't Seamus told you never to assume things?" Draco walked back into the room and perched himself on the edge of the desk, swinging his legs absentmindedly. "Lovely house you two've got. Though personally I think the dining room could do with some work."

"Why didn't you leave?" asked Fred but without any anger in his voice, just plain curiosity.

The blond rolled his eyes, a trait Harry noticed he was fond of. "It's raining. Surely you can't expect me to walk home in the rain."

"What was I thinking?" said Fred casting an amused smile at Harry, who was smiling thoughtfully at the thief.

"So now that the anxiety's gone about Harry running off and telling your _charming _younger brother, I think you owe him an explanation," Draco leant back on his elbows on the desk. "I'll help."

"How much do you know?" Fred asked curiously.

"More than you think."

Harry eyed the thief even more thoughtfully. Although Draco spoke with confidence and almost flippantly, the look in his eye gave the impression that what he knew seemed to something far more than just the tale of what the Weasley twins had been up to. At the same time though, whatever it was seemed to be tightly guarded within the silver armoury of the thief, Harry found himself more intrigued by the young man than ever. Draco's silver stare moved from the redhead and over to Harry. The latter looked away quickly, realising he had been staring for quite some time.

Draco found himself as interested as ever by the aristocrat's behaviour. From experience he knew people of Harry's stature to be the type to do anything for self gain, was this all a ploy so he could have something over the Weasleys? The thief ran a hand through his hair in thought. The young man before him seemed nothing like that, there was something so different to other aristocrats about him, something attractive. With the brunet busying himself with finding somewhere to sit and Fred sitting in his original seat humming and haring about where to begin his explanation, Draco used the time to have a closer look at Harry. The first time he had seen him had been brief and Draco had only had time to give him a quick glance. Last night had given him more of an opportunity, except for the fact that the only light he could see Harry in had been that of the flickering streetlamps and the moon itself- though there's nothing wrong with moonlight. Some of his best work had been done bathed in nothing but faint moonlight. Plus if his memory served him correctly, Pansy had mentioned once that walking in the moonlight with someone was considered by many, very romantic. Draco smiled lightly, finding it difficult to see how someone could think walking Harry home after holding a knife to his throat, while the moon just so happened to be shining brightly, was romantic. The idea seemed up there with Blaise's rubbish about the death of loved ones. Draco gave his head a tiny shake, trying to avoid thinking about that subject. He went back to inspecting Harry who had chosen to sit on the floor and was also sitting back on his elbows, like Draco, but with his legs spread out in front, watching Fred intently.

Draco swept his eyes over the young man before him and eventually found himself unable to look away from Harry's eyes. They were a brilliant shade of green; the colour of the rolling hills in the countryside Draco had forever longed to visit. Just like the countryside Draco found himself wanting to be able to fall deep into the emerald eyes and take in every aspect there and in doing so perhaps never leave.

Upon deciding now was a no better time than any; Fred glanced around at his audience. Harry seemed to be deep in thought looking out the rain-splattered window. He glanced over to the thief and a gentle smile came to his lips. He leant closer to Draco and whispered, "It's rude to stare."

Draco gave a sharp jolt and looked over at Fred, his cheeks tinting. "I wasn't," Draco denied.

Fred's eyes lit with amusement at Draco's denial of the blatantly obvious, "Of course you weren't."

Draco glared at him, but Fred noticed him glance briefly at Harry to make sure he hadn't noticed his embarrassment at being caught. Draco relaxed as he saw Harry was still looking out the window. That could've been awkward to explain- 'Draco, why are you blushing?' Fred would smile evilly 'Oh, it's nothing. I just caught him staring at you with a slightly distant expression on his face.'

Fred cleared his throat and Harry looked up, alert and ready to find out what this scandal the Weasley twins were in really was.

"Ok, I'm going to get straight to the point, there's no point in trying to skirt around it. George and I, we," Fred paused and Harry leant forward a little in anticipation. "We own a tavern."

Harry blinked, slightly disappointed, this had not been what he was expecting. "That's it? But that isn't that big a deal. I'm sure your parents wouldn't mind, your dad especially." Harry stopped Fred was shaking his head. "What?"

"There's more," grinned Draco, watching the redhead.

"Yes, it's not the tavern itself, well, _it is_, but that's not the part we're worried about. You see," Fred paused again wondering what was the best way for him to phrase what he was about to say. "Have you ever wondered why we live so close to lower-London?"

"Yes…" said Harry, unsure where Fred was going with this.

"The tavern's the reason. It's _in _lower-London."

"But lower-London's the…" Harry frowned. Both Draco and Fred were nodding.

"You own a tavern for thieves?" Harry asked in shock.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Draco muttered, which earned him an apologetic expression from Harry.

Fred nodded again.

"And that's where George is now?" Connections were slowly being made in Harry's mind. "And how you know so much about thieves."

"Yep," said Fred.

"Well, it makes sense why you don't want anyone to know. Christ. What would your mother think? What would _Ron _think?" Harry sat thinking for a few seconds.

Fred was looking at him slightly worried.

"I've got to admit I'm impressed," said Harry.

Fred sat up straighter suddenly looking smug.

"How on earth did you do it? You'd need connections, surely."

"That's where Finnigan comes in," said Draco.

"Seamus Finnigan," said Fred answering Harry's questioning look. "He's a thief-"

"Obviously," Draco muttered under his breath.

Fred ignored the comment; "George and I met him a while ago and sort of hit it off. We've been friends ever since, he helped us get the place and do it up, spread the word amongst the other thieves."

The three of them sat in silence for a minute or two before Draco spoke.

"Tell him where it is," he suggested

"Why?" asked Fred, frowning at the blond.

"So he can find it," said Draco.

"And why would he want to find a place full of your sort?"

"Why not." Harry said, receiving him a grin from Draco.

"Why not, indeed," said the blond.

"Ok, then. Harry, there's a map of the thieves' district in the spare room could you…"

Harry was already on his feet.

Fred looked back to Draco, "I can see why he's curious to know where it is, but why are you so mind set on him knowing?"

"He needs to know how to get to where his English lesson are to be held."

"You're serious?" asked Harry coming back into the room carrying a large roll of parchment. "I thought you were kidding when you said that."

"Of course not, but of course if you aren't up for it anymore I can call it off, though your teacher will be disappointed."

"No, I'm up for it," Harry said enthusiastically.

"Hang on a sec," said Fred glancing between them both. "Why is Harry getting English lessons? Harry, you've spent the past five years of your life studying literature and grammar and all that other rubbish. Why are you getting lessons now and from a thief?"

"You've answered your question yourself," said Draco, "That's the point exactly. Five years learning rubbish. This is _proper_ English and who else would be better at teaching someone about proper English than lower-Londoners?"

"_Proper_ English?" Fred raised an eyebrow.

"Harry'll explain later," Draco said jumping from the desk and taking the map from Harry.

Fred turned his question to Harry who just grinned shaking his head. Harry came up to the desk examining the map Draco had spread out. He located the twins' home just on the outskirts of area.

"So we're here," he said placing a finger on the map, "so then where's the tavern."

"Right here," said Fred. He pointed to a street located in one of the darkest part of London, right in the heart of the thieving community.

Harry traced the path between the two points with his eyes and made sure he had it firmly planted in his memory.

"So, what's this place I have to get to called?"

Both he and Draco looked up from the map to Fred, who stood smiling rather proudly.

"_The Scarlet Tuppence._"

**A/N: **"_The Scarlet Tuppence_" Thanks to Lain-Iris for the _Tuppence_ part (Tuppence- enough money to get dead drunk on). I was in shock at how perfectly it fitted the story. The idea was brilliant and I wish I could claim it as my own but alas I'm not that creative. _Scarlet_- Came down to we needed a connection with the Gryffindors considering we've already got the Slytherins. So, scarlet- red/crimson whatever- Gryffindor colours. Also scarlet- red- Weasley twins hair (shit connection, I know). But my favourite, Scarlet- the Scarlet Pimpernel. And although he wasn't a thief whenever I think of him I class him in with all the Artful Dodger's of books. He rocks. So there we have it, and thanks to everyone who stopped and took time to think of an idea. (Note: Guilt works).

I'm afraid that although it is the holidays (giving me endless time on my hands) I won't be able to update for a week as I'm going down south for this week. But fear not, it's a five hr drive, giving me ten hrs there and back where I can write another few chapters.

As usual any questions, comments, suggestions- I'm all ears and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Until next time, -Rogue


	6. Chapter Six

_Thief is Such a Harsh Word, Harry_

This chapter picks up from exactly where the last one finished. And as usual sorry about the lateness, holidays went faster than I had planned and this chapter took longer than I planned. Just a whole lot of poor planning skills on my behalf.

-CHAPTER SIX-

"George, you owe me a fiver!"

The front door slammed shut.

Harry closed his eyes in frustration. Draco looked at the ceiling in annoyance. Fred shook his head at Ron's timing.

"He's not here," he yelled out whilst rolling up the map and shoving it into the desk's drawer.

"Where is he?' called Ron.

"Ah…" Fred tried to think fast, casting his eyes around the room for inspiration.

"Reporting your theft," Draco suggested with a slightly bored expression on his face.

Fred grinned. "He's gone to report your theft."

He mouthed thanks to Draco.

"I thought you guys said that was pointless." Ron's voice was coming closer as he tried to pinpoint the room in which Fred's was coming from.

"Did you really?" grinned Draco, suddenly developing interest in the conversation.

"Don't let it go to your head," Fred muttered. He raised his voice, "Well, it was a lot of money. We thought about it and figured we probably should report it."

"So there's hope they'll get the bastard," said Ron. He was clearly in the next room, still searching for Fred.

Draco leapt from his seat on the desk. Harry reacted quickly and grabbed Draco's arm. The blond stopped and leant back against the desk, glaring at then door. "He deserved it, the snotty prat," he growled under his breath.

Fred turned to see Harry holding the thief back and was suddenly hit with alarm.

"Get him out of here," he whispered urgently.

Draco opened his mouth to protest. Seeing Ron's reaction to finding him in his brothers' house would have been priceless, but Harry was already walking down a small flight of stairs in the corner of the room Draco hadn't noticed earlier.

"You know Ron, maybe if you wish hard enough they will get him," Fred winked at Draco as he walked from the room.

"I'll be with you in a second Ron, just got to get something.

"My money I hope," Draco heard Ron say.

"Not until you prove it. Until then we're giving you zilch."

"How the hell am I supposed to prove it?"

Ron sounded flustered at the thought. Harry smiled to himself.

"You'll have to figure that one out by yourself. I'll meet you in the lounge."

Fred reappeared in the study. "Malfoy," he whispered.

Both Draco and Harry turned, Harry from the bottom stair, Draco second from the top.

"I couldn't bear the thought of you having to walk in the rain." The twin tossed a black umbrella to the thief who caught it with a scowl on his face.

Fred laughed and exited.

Draco covered the last few steps and stopped at the landing next to Harry.

"After you," the brunet smiled opening the door.

Draco put up the umbrella as he stepped out into the downpour. He observed his surroundings and found they had come out into a small alleyway.

"Very convenient," he said with admiration to the twins' choice of home.

Harry pulled the door shut behind them and joined Draco under the umbrella. "I can walk in the rain if you want. It's not that heavy, if you don't want to share that is." Harry made to step out from under the shelter.

Draco grabbed his arm, "Don't be stupid. It's big enough to cover us both, that is of course if you don't mind standing close." He cast a curious glance at Harry.

Harry smiled slowly, "Of course not." Harry stood as close to Draco as he could without touching him. He didn't want to make the thief feel uncomfortable and make him regret his decision to let him come under the umbrella.

Draco noticed the distance Harry was putting between them but decided not to push it. He must have misread Harry's smile. Instead the blond went out of his way to keep the distance between them constant. Although, he found it somewhat disappointing that Harry was going out of his way to avoid contact. Perhaps Harry found the idea of even barely touching another man wrong. Draco was sure that couldn't be the case, Harry seemed like someone different to that, someone like _him. _Draco looked at the gap between them once more and sighed in his head, obviously not, but none the less, this was not going to stop him from trying to make it so.

"Where're we headed?" asked Harry.

Draco smiled at Harry's clear reference to 'we'.

"No idea. Probably would have better if Weasley had thought to give us two umbrellas."

"I don't need it, if you want to take it," Harry said again.

"And I'll say again, that's stupid. You'll get sick, die, and leave someone somewhere devastated and heartbroken."

"I think not," Harry laughed though he noticed the left side of his body was still getting quite wet and rather cold. Forget making the thief feel uncomfortable, he was the upper-class man here, if Draco didn't like it so be it. Harry stepped further under the umbrella.

"So," said Draco trying not to sound too happy, no, happiness wasn't the feeling which swept through him as Harry closed the small distance between them, it was more a combination of pleasure and delight. A sudden yearning seized him, a desire to reach an arm around the brunet and draw him in even closer. He swallowed and pushed the idea away; it was neither the time nor the place. "Good question, where are we headed?"

They looked out along the practically deserted street the laneway had opened up into. Few people dared venture from their homes in such weather, and those who did didn't seem to be planning to stay out in it long. The occasional carriage saw the driver huddled in his coat and top hat trying to stay as dry as was possible when sitting on top the coach.

"Perhaps you take the umbrella and I'll get a carriage home," suggested Harry, he looked over at Draco.

"Or better yet," Draco passed Harry the umbrella. Harry watched as he stepped out into the rain, pulling his coat collar up as he did to shield his face as best he could from the icy winds and water. Draco held out a hand and a carriage came trotting to a halt next to them. He leapt up onto the step up to the door and told something to the driver. The driver gave a nod and Draco looked at Harry shivering under the umbrella with a grin. He hopped back down onto the cobblestones and pulled the carriage door open, and on the spur of the moment, stooped into a low bow as he did so.

Harry shook his head in amusement, put the umbrella down and climbed into the carriage. He sighed in content as the dry, warm air inside the carriage swept over him.

Draco climbed in after him, shutting the door and flopping down on the seat opposite.

Harry frowned, "I thought thieves weren't able to take carriages."

The blond shrugged as he ran his fingers through his wet hair, giving it a gelled back look. "I need to build up my risk taking reputation. Prove I'm not all walking in unlocked doors."

"But wouldn't the driver have your description from the police? From what I've heard from the twins they seem pretty desperate to catch you."

Draco grinned as he pulled his wet coat off, he liked how Harry had phrased that- poor desperate authorities weren't even capable of catching a nineteen year old. "I doubt it. I mean, are the police really going to think London's thieving community are taking carriages around the place?"

"Put that way, probably not. But here we are."

"It's not something we do often. Take me for example. I haven't been in a carriage since…" Draco looked thoughtfully around the inside of the carriage.

Harry watched as Draco's thoughtful appearance changed dramatically and his face seemed to cast into shadows as he turned away from Harry and looked out the window, his expression grave. "Since mother…" he said slowly and faltered, still watching the rain pelt against the window. He cleared his throat and looked back at Harry, "Since I was twelve."

He forced a fake smile before looking back to the window again, but Harry knew the smile too well. He knew what it meant, what it was covering, it was a smile he caught himself wearing a lot when a certain subject came up.

Harry was impressed by how quickly the thief composed himself. Draco looked back after a few seconds, a firm smile plastered on his face. It looked more genuine but again Harry knew you could never be sure, enough practice had let him easily master that particular smile. It was one he would flash when people got too persistent and found the first smile unbelievable. 'Are you sure you're fine?' 'Yes, of course' the first smile would appear. Most would smile sympathetically and leave the subject, perhaps utter a comment of 'poor dear, puts on such a brave face after all that's happened', but there were a select few, who refused to be convinced, 'Are you really sure you're okay?' The second smile would appear with a stronger 'Yes' and they would be won over instantly.

By the looks of things Draco had definitely mastered the second smile. Harry's heart went out to him; the smile had confirmed his thoughts, for Harry had found over the years that only those who had lost someone close to them, extremely close to them, could produce it.

Draco's body flooded with relief as Harry smiled back. For a second he'd thought the brunet had picked up on his comment about his mother. It wouldn't have been hard to figure out the rest from there. But Harry hadn't bombarded him with questions so he mustn't have worked it out. He decided not to dwell on the thoughts. It wasn't exactly a subject he was fond of.

"Why did George owe Ron a fiver?" he asked genuinely curious but also glad to change the topic.

Harry smiled disdainfully. "He and Ron had a bet." He followed the blonde's earlier behaviour and looked out the window.

Draco wasn't satisfied. "I gathered, but what were they betting on?"

Harry sighed, "Ron went out last night with a girl, Hermione."

"Auburn dress, hair in a bun?" Draco remembered out loud.

"Yes," said Harry slowly giving Draco a look of 'how the hell did you know that?'.

"Shouldn't have interrupted. Go on," Draco said skirting the look.

"George bet Ron five pounds he wouldn't get a kiss," Harry said bitterly.

Draco was intrigued by Harry's tone. Was he detecting a hint of jealousy? No, he thought studying Harry subtly, there wasn't jealousy in those eyes and why should there be, for as far as he could tell Harry Potter was a …man's man. Unless of course he wasn't jealous of Ron getting Hermione, but the other way round. Draco shuddered at the thought. He wasn't going to go there.

"So that's why he sounded distressed when Fred told him he had to prove it," Draco said.

Harry nodded, smiling despite himself. "Because the only way for him to prove something like that would mean George asking Hermione and you've no idea how Hermione would react if she knew he was betting on that kind of thing."

"Sounds like he's just going to have to stay penniless. Unless I feel the sudden urge to right my wrong and give his money back. Though the chances of that happening seem highly unlikely."

"He doesn't need it," Harry said quietly, "his family aren't exactly rolling in it but they're far from impoverished."

"Harry," Draco said softly.

The green eyes flicked up.

"I'm getting the feeling you and Ron aren't exactly the _greatest_ of friends, is that right or am I completely off the mark?"

The eyes looked away to the window and Draco could see the rain and the street going by reflected in the panes of the young man's glasses.

"This is my house," Harry said firmly closing the discussion before it began. He rose from his seat as the carriage began to slow down.

The carriage came to a standstill and Harry threw the door open. Draco picked the umbrella off the floor and draped his coat over his arm, following Harry out into the rain. "Obviously not something you want to talk about," he muttered under his breath.

The rain had mellowed down to a light sprinkle so Draco didn't bother with the umbrella. He pulled out the money for the fare but Harry had beaten him to it, with a sigh, he folded the money back up and placed it back inside his breast pocket. It seemed there as no beating an upper-classer when money was involved.

Harry turned to face Draco questioningly.

"We have to prepare for your lesson," the blond said.

Harry nodded, "Right. Then let's get inside."

He led the way up the path to the doorstep and unlocked the door. Draco's eyes widened as the door swung open and he was hit with the thought of whether the royal family knew this place existed, obviously not otherwise Harry wouldn't have been living here as the crown would've claimed it as their own.

Harry walked calmly in trying not to laugh at Draco's reaction to his home. He'd been in shock too when he'd first entered it after arriving home from boarding school. He had chosen to live in London in his final year. He'd been given the option of that or his parents' Scottish estate and the answer seemed obvious, who in their right mind would choose to live in the home where their parents had been murdered? That fact aside, the place held too many memories, not just of the murder but of everything before that, even of Sirius. So naturally he had chosen London. His parents had left everything in his name and with that came their London home. He'd never stepped foot in it in his life as he'd lived in Scotland for all his childhood, but the place had sounded quaint and somewhere where he'd feel comfortable. He'd been expecting nothing of this calibre.

Draco looked around. He got the feeling if he strayed too far from Harry he'd find himself completely lost. The sound of their feet echoed around the entrance hall as they walked past a cabinet filled with assortment of carefully placed and polished silverware. It was the kind of place that reminded Draco of an art gallery or museum. His mother had taken him to a few when he was little and he had found then highly unnerving. He walked around them with the fear that if he made a noise or touched anything, even by accident, a guard would appear and say in a loud enough voice that everyone would turn around nosily to listen, 'excuse me son, but would you mind coming with me, you clearly do not belong in a place like this.' He was filled with the same feeling in Harry's house, one wrong move and he would be chucked out.

"Here," said Harry, taking the umbrella from the thief and dumping it unceremoniously on the floor next to the cabinet. Seeing the umbrella land with a thud that sent water spraying up onto the glass door and a large puddle of water slowly appear around the brolly, made Draco relax. The atmosphere giving him the feeling he had to be on his best behaviour dropped immediately.

Harry led him into the lounge and took his coat, draping it over the back of a chair and removing his own. He knelt down in front of the fireplace and picked up a box of matches.

"I would've thought the servants would have the fire roaring away long before you got home," said Draco watching Harry light some of the pieces of wood already in the fireplace.

The brunet looked over his shoulder with a grin, "They don't work today," he said matter-of-factly.

Draco was thrown off, "I wasn't serious," he muttered.

Harry got up and dusted his hands off on his pants. One look at Draco's expression and he couldn't contain himself. "Neither was I," he laughed.

"That's not funny. It's cruel to use my lack of knowledge to your advantage," the thief said sulkily, crossing arms.

The sight made Harry wonder how someone acting so childish could stay looking so handsome. He wondered if the thief knew how good-looking he was. Harry mentally slapped himself. How could Draco _not _know? He was probably reminded of it everyday by the lover he would no doubt have. Harry's thoughts were broken by Draco's voice.

"Well then," the thief's eyes lit slyly as he looked back at Harry. "I guess I can use _your _lack of knowledge to _my_ advantage tomorrow."

Draco chuckled as Harry's eyes widened in shock, "No," he whispered shaking his head. "No, you wouldn't. You _can't_."

"We'll have to wait and see," Draco smirked.

"You bastard," Harry muttered.

"Now, now Potter, there's no need for that kind of language." The thief's laugh was cut off as he ducked a playful swipe from the aristocrat. "Ok," he said with a grin. "Fine. No using anyone's knowledge to your advantage. Agreed?" He held out a hand.

"Agreed." Harry said taking Draco's hand.

The pair looked down at the other's hand in their own. Tension gripped the air as both realised they were holding hands far longer than was needed in a regular handshake, yet neither seemed to want to let go. Finally Harry pulled his arm back and turned away from Draco to face the fire.

Draco let his arm drop slowly, the feeling of Harry's skin on his own still lingering.

Harry cleared his throat, "Ah, wh…what is this pre-lesson thing?"

"Right," said Draco, snapping back to reality. "Where's your bedroom?"

"_Sorry_?" asked Harry turning around in shock.

Draco cringed at how badly had come out. "Let me try that again. I assume you keep your clothes in your bedroom."

Harry nodded.

"Well, in preparation for your lesson I figure we can't have you turning up looking like that," he nodded at what Harry was wearing.

"What's wrong with this?" Harry asked testily.

Draco shook his head; "There's nothing wrong with it. It's just you're going to stand out a fair bit wearing the best clothes money can buy when you're surrounded by lower-classers."

"Right," said Harry catching on. He walked past Draco, out into the hall and up the stairs. "I'm not sure if I'm going to have anything that'll work," he said over his shoulder.

"I'll find something, I assure you," Draco said looking at all the pictures on the wall of the Potters through the centuries. Around the corner from the top of the stairs were the late Lily and James but no Harry, Draco noticed. "How come there isn't one of you?" he asked.

Harry looked back to see what Draco was talking about. "Oh. Not exactly keen on sitting for five hours doing nothing while someone paints me."

"Makes sense," Draco said looking away from the paintings and back to the person he was following.

Harry led Draco to the door of his bedroom straining his brain trying to remember whether or not his room was in a suitable condition.

He gingerly pushed open the door and was relieved by the sight that met his eyes.

The large four-poster bed immediately caught Draco's eye. It looked quite impressive but the thief didn't stop to dwell on thoughts of what one could do in a bed of that size. He was already crossing the room to the wardrobe that stood opposite the foot of the bed.

He flung open the doors and began his search.

Harry sat on the end of the bed watching as Draco flicked through a few pairs of pants, stopped, went back a pair and pulled them from the cupboard. He held them out in front of him, head tilted to one side. The grey eyes gave the trousers a thorough inspection before a small frown caused them to be cast from the selection and onto the floor.

"All this stuff fits you, right?" he asked as he pulled a pair of plain dark brown trousers from the rack.

Harry nodded.

"Good," said Draco not taking his eyes from the pants. They under went the same scrupulous inspection.

Harry couldn't see much of a difference between them and the previous pair but the blond seemed to think there was. He tossed them onto the bed next to Harry, satisfied, and delve back into the wardrobe.

"Draco, what you're wearing isn't much different to what I've got on at the moment," Harry said trying to distract himself from the sight of the thief bent over in front of him.

Draco straightened up holding two waistcoats. "No one's going to dare question what I'm wearing. One of the perks of being in my position. When you become leader of a bunch of crims, feel free to wear whatever you want, but for now we don't want you standing out. You never know if someone might recognise you, like Blaise and I did. People might start asking questions. That's why it'll be easier if you blend in."

"You recognised me?" Harry asked curiously.

Draco lowered the waistcoats and looked up to meet Harry's eye. "Yeah," he said with a soft smile on his lips.

Harry felt his breath catch and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the young man in front of him.

Draco swallowed slowly; it hadn't been smart to look up. Harry was staring right at him and now he felt he couldn't bear to look away. He forced himself to shift his gaze from the penetrating green stare, but this seemed a mistake as his eyes where now fixed with the sight of Harry's lips. He felt his legs slowly take him forward, towards the lips.

He was almost at his destination when a small voice yelled at him to stop in the back of his head. He wanted to disregard it, but he knew it was the right thing to do. It was far too early. Who knew how Harry would react to suddenly finding another man's lips on his own. He hardly knew Draco; he'd probably be scared half to death. And then there was the little fact of Draco being another male. He still wasn't sure which way Harry swung.

Draco took a deep breath to regain himself and held up the waistcoats. "I think this one will go with the pants." He placed a paler brown cotton coat next to Harry and turned around again. Focussing himself again on the task at hand.

Harry leant his head to the side against one of the bedposts. He picked up the coat and ran his fingers over the material absentmindedly. He watched as Draco put his hands on his hips and glared at the selection of shirts. His love-starved mind had certainly got his imagination running overtime lately. Draco's mind was clearly on the job at hand; he had _not_ just seen the thief take a few tentative steps towards him. There was no way in hell. Harry decided to also remind himself, before his imagination went on its own wild run again, that it would be impossible for someone like Draco not to be taken already. He sighed gently and looked down to the waistcoat in his hands.

Draco decided to give up on the shirts for now. Instead he pulled out a pair of old faded black shoes and some greying socks. He squatted down to inspect the shoes but his mind began to drift as he did so. Was there anyway of finding out, without giving away what he was doing, if his assumptions about Harry and his interests were true? He ran the question around in his head as he gave the shoe a polish with the socks. Perhaps there was, he thought looking up at the shirts, with a plan developing rapidly in his mind.

"Harry," he said standing up.

Harry looked up.

"None of these shirts are going to do."

Harry frowned, "Not even a plain white one?" he asked rising from the bed and coming over to look at his shirts.

"I'm afraid not," Draco said, folding his arms and leaning against the wardrobe. "All of them have been tailored far too well."

"But is that really noticeable?" Harry held up a sleeve and squinted at the stitching.

"Very," the thief said simply.

"So what do you propose we do then?" Harry dropped the sleeve and looked questioningly at Draco.

The thief put on a thoughtful expression, pushed off the cupboard and began to walk slowly around the room. "I don't know. Unless we can somehow find another shirt."

He put his hands on his hips again and looked to the ceiling thinking.

"What?" Harry asked as Draco suddenly looked at him with his eyes alight and a small smile playing on his lips.

"You're pretty much the same size as me," said Draco walking over to Harry and looking him up and down.

Harry's heart stopped as Draco began to unbutton the shirt he was wearing. He looked away. God, why did the blond have to torment him like this? He risked a look back. Draco grinned at him and pulled his shirt off, holding it out for Harry to take.

Draco applauded his own brilliance as he passed his shirt to the brunet who wasn't taking his eyes from the thief's chest.

"Thanks," said Harry, ripping his eyes up and taking the shirt.

So it's confirmed, Draco thought smugly to himself. Harry definitely swings the same way as I do.

"What's that you've got around your neck?" Harry asked as he hung the shirt on a hanger. Probably a present from your lady, he thought bitterly. It was probably that girl. The one who had fallen on Ron. She'd been pretty. Yes, Harry thought confirming it. Draco and her. He was getting his hopes up for nothing. Asthough someone as good looking as the thief wouldn't have been already taken, and even if he hadn't the likelihood of him liking another man when he'd have the choice of all the women in the country was ludicrous.

"Oh," said Draco looking down at the gold locket that hung around his neck. He never took it off and was so used to it that he never seemed to notice it. It must have stood out to people who weren't used to seeing it. He held it up for Harry to look at.

Harry walked over and took the locket carefully in his fingers. Engraved on the front was the same engraving as had been on the lock pick, the Slytherin snake. He opened it with care. Inside was a portrait the size of a penny and although small was extremely well detailed. It was of a woman with long blonde hair and magnificent blue eyes.

"Your mother?" he asked.

Draco nodded, making sure not to bump Harry as the locket still hung around his neck causing Harry to be standing incredibly close.

"She was beautiful," Harry said softly.

Draco's mind stopped for a millisecond, replaying what Harry had just said: _She was beautiful…_ He was using the past tense- _he knew_. Draco felt a rush of gratitude towards the aristocrat. He must have known all along and he never said anything, didn't attack him with questions like everyone else did of _how_ and _when?_

"Thanks," he said just as softly.

Harry knew what Draco was talking about. He looked up and smiled. "No problem."

**A/N: **And after all that they didn't do anything, and Draco had his shirt off and everything. But so you don't all kill me I'm warning you now that next chapter I'm changing the rating to M. (which means i promise you something, not massive straight away (that'd be stuffed) but perhaps if you're good and don't harass me with complaints of 'why did you miss the perfect opportunity for them to at least kiss?' and you review and hit me with suggestions of what you want to see in coming chapters etc. then I'll think about that 'something' and its inclusion in the next chapter.)

Oh, and to anyone who cares I got the password back for my other account... But by no means does that mean I'm deserting this one. I love this story too much.

-Rogue


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